


A Thousand Cuts

by RumbleFish14



Series: The Chronicles of The Dark King & His Prince [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bruce, Destruction, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Implied Murder, Kissing, Knife Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, Mayhem, Mild Fluff, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Psychopaths In Love, Riding, Smut, Sneaking Around, Teasing, Top Jerome, implied mayhem, laughing kink, valeyne - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbleFish14/pseuds/RumbleFish14
Summary: (This is a series about how Gotham's Dark Hero fell in love with the biggest villain in the city)Bruce awaits the arrival of Jerome with both unease and excitement. He knows liking Gotham's worst enemy is wrong, but he can't seem to help himself and he has the scars to prove it





	A Thousand Cuts

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Gotham fic and I just adore Jerome with Bruce. Please read all tag, they will change and be updated with each addition to the series. Jerome is still a bad guy, he just has a soft spot for Bruce.

A Thousand Cuts

 

It was a dark and stormy night. The kind of night where everything felt wrong somehow, it was darker than usual, gloomy and dreary. You could feel the heaviness in the air as it began to pour down rain. More like acid. As the clear, fresh rain poured down in Gotham, it removed the first layer of slime and grime from the streets. 

The smell was the worst. Not that fresh rain smell, not anywhere near the city. You had to be miles away to breathe in the fresh rain smell and to see the stars twinkle in the dark sky. Stars out there, not flames from the nearest fire. 

Bruce sat on the leather sofa in his fathers office. Legs crossed at the ankles, one arm stretched across the back while the other held a book on his knees. With every other gust of wind from the open window, the pages fluttered closed on him momentarily until it settled.

Out here in Wayne Manor, he could smell the rain. He could hear it outside, beating down like fists against a punching bag. A sound he was very familiar with. He kept to himself, at home. Where he felt safe from the terrors of Gotham and all that living there entailed.

It was up to him to look after the city. Nothing against GCPD and Jim Gordon, but they had proven to be useless one time too many. It was up to him. He started working out, letting Alfred teach him to fight. First hand to hand, then onto weapons when he had that mastered. And he was good, a force to be reckoned with. 

He spent his days learning, mastering all types of self defense and weapons; but at night, when Gotham was truly awake, he was on the hunt. Providing decent services to the good folks of their city from the maniacs and bad guys. Someone had to do it after all. 

It didn’t help that he was the reason for one particular brand of violence. The Jerome Valeska kind. The man was a lunatic through and through. Certifiable, diagnosed and everything. Jerome couldn’t and didn’t even argue about it anymore. Bruce didn’t either. It was because of him, that Jerome wasn’t locked up in the cesspool that was Arkham Asylum. 

It was because of what they did, what they had….together.

Bruce re-read the same line for the tenth time before he realized he wasn’t even reading. He was wasting time before his night was invaded by emerald green eyes and wild red hair; his weakness. 

He hadn’t seen Jerome in a week. His little lunatic was busy spreading his own brand of crazy in their city. But somehow Bruce knew it was gonna be tonight that Jerome would creep through that always open window. Coming to kill him once and for all this time…or other, more pleasurable things.

The very thought sent a chill down his spine. He knew better now, he couldn’t blame it on the open window or cool breeze, this chill was all Jerome.

“Focus Bruce…just focus.” He mumbled to himself as he forced his eyes to move across the page. Reading the words but not really absorbing them. 

A giddy laugh flowed into the open window and Bruce sucked in a large breath of air. Just that laugh had the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end, it had his heart pounding furiously in his chest, warmth pooled in his gut and a low gasp escaped his lips.

“Oh Brucie, Brucie, Brucie…you know what they say about people who talk to themselves.” Jerome whispered into the dark window, not yet revealing himself. He loved playing cat and mouse with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce managed a tight lipped smile. That sense of fear that always lingered around Jerome was oddly comforting. Dangerous, of course. There was no guarantee that Jerome wouldn’t kill him. He was very volatile, jumpy but calculated. And Bruce loved it. He was drawn to Jerome's darkness.

“No, tell me. What do they say?” he asked to no one. Jerome still hadn’t come out yet. “Are we playing cat and mouse again Jerome?” he teased, searching the window from top to bottom and didn’t see a damn thing.

“Of course we are darling…” Jerome purred. The sound traveled on the wind and he saw the moment it reached Bruce. Bruce arched his back, dropping the book to the floor with a loud thud. “You know how much I love to play with you.”

A full body shiver took over, he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control it. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. “Well, come out then little mouse.” He whispered seductively into the room.

Jerome gasped over his pounding heart. He finally stepped out of the shadows of a rather creepy looking gargoyle perched just outside the window. Lately, he felt colder inside then that statue. That’s what brought him here, the heat that lingered within the Prince of Gotham. A heat he was drawn to from day one. One he couldn’t, wouldn’t relinquish for anything. He needed it.

“They say those that talk to themselves are insane…” Jerome smiled a sinister one just for Bruce. His finger tips brushed slowly against the window as he passed it, caressing it like he would a blade. “And I’m not the mouse.”

Bruce watched his hands…Jerome had such wonderful, beautifully dangerous, capable hands. They could do vile things when he wanted, or they could take him apart, one touch at a time. “This time you are the mouse Jerome. You’re the one who was hiding.” He returned Jerome's smile, unable not to.

Jerome cocked his head to the side, a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Score; Bruce 1, Jerome 0.” He gave a little bow. “I hope I was interrupting you.”

Most people would say, “I hope I wasn’t”, but not Jerome. Bruce shook his head. “You are always interrupting me Jerome. You already know that.” Jerome gave himself away with a smile. “Out wreaking havoc on Gotham again?”

Jerome didn’t answer with words. He mindlessly shrugged as he paced slowly around the impeccable room. His clothes dripping onto the floor with every step. He was bone cold. The fire didn’t help, the only thing that would was sitting 5 feet away from him. 

“What’s a little havoc, huh? A few people bleed, others die…it’s like hunting. People hunt animals to thin the herd. To keep them at a manageable level before they over take the world by just existing.”

Bruce was fully hard at this point. The way Jerome saw the world was both a blessing and a curse. It was all black and white. No grey areas with him. It was admirable and a little scary at times. Like now.

“They are people Jay, not animals. They need to be understood and protected.” Bruce crossed and uncrossed his legs, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his slacks. 

Jerome quirked an eyebrow at Bruce wiggling around in his seat. A slow grin spread over his deformed face when he realized what it was. Power thrummed through him. He had power over Gotham's most powerful man…prince. His Prince. He cackled loudly, that sadistic power flowing through him at the thought.

“I beg to differ Master Wayne. Animals, the lot of them. Greedy, hungry, horny little creatures. Selfish and needy, dangerous. Murderous. They, we, all want something. Things we were told we couldn’t have, but that we desperately need.”

Jerome was growling now. He took a step forward, losing his wet jacket and shoes at the same time. Bruce watched with wide, hungry eyes. Jerome was right. As always. He wanted Jerome. The way his shoulders rolled back to let the jacket fall, long legs moving swiftly across the slick floor had him twitching in his slacks.

Fuck, he wanted Jerome. Even with that wicked laugh. It was supposed to insight fear, hopelessness and insanity. Instead, he wanted to pull that crazy laugh around him like a blanket, to bottle it and wear it on his body for Jerome to smell. He wanted to drink it like fine wine, eat it like a 5 course meal. He wanted that laugh forever.

“For instance,” Jerome purred as he stepped closer, light on his feet like a cat. “What you want, is within your reach.” He moved so he was standing between Bruce’s spread legs. “It scares you how much you want it. How badly you need it. You know it’s wrong, it’s sick, but you want it anyways.”

Bruce was trembling with need as he looked up into green eyes. Eyes that held only the truth for him. “Because it is wrong. It is sick. Disgusting. I shouldn’t want it. I shouldn’t crave it the way I do.” He breathed deep, breath shaking as he exhaled. 

Jerome chuckled as Bruce’s dark blue eyes were drawn to his groin when he fumbled under his shirt to dig into his pocket. He brought out his favorite knife, a flick of his wrist and it was pointed into Bruce’s face. “We all want the same thing darling. We want to be consumed by another. To be wanted, to be fucked, to have our souls stripped and rearranged around that one person.” 

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat when he straddled Bruce’s lap in one quick movement. Legs spread wide on either side, his ass fully seated on Bruce’s bulge. It brought them face to face, sharing the same air and his blade pressed into a smooth, unmarked cheek.

“Is that what you want Jay?” Bruce asked as he nosed against Jerome’s nose with his. “Do you crave what they do, what I do?” he studied the scars along Jerome’s face. Even with them, he was strikingly beautiful.

Their lips were so close. One little push and they would be able to kiss. Jerome let the tip of the knife slide down from Bruce’s cheek, down a strong jaw, then onto that glorious, untouched neck, well, not untouched anymore. There was a deep gash just under his jaw on the left side. A scar he’d given Bruce when they first met. One he almost regretted. He watched Bruce swallow thickly, making the sharp tip dig in a little deeper. 

“I’ll have to kill you if I tell you Brucie.” He pushed the tip in until a single drop of blood swelled. Bruce groaned, and Jerome laughed loudly as his hips were gripped hard, keeping him in position.

“Tell me Jay.” Bruce panted, his hands hand began to shake when the knife moved down his jaw. He liked a little pain…maybe more than a little and he had the scars from Jerome to prove it. One in particular was pulsing, pounding. The deepest one he had.

“Even if I have to slit this pretty little throat?” he asked as he leaned down to slowly lick up the line of blood. “It would be such a shame to let all this pretty, delicious blood go to waste.” He dug his tongue deeper into the little slit and more blood welled out. “Don’t you agree?”

Bruce was losing his mind. Jerome was licking blood from his neck and it had him so close to coming he couldn’t think straight. He offered Jerome his neck, giving him more room and tightened his grip on his hips. He pushed up against his ass, getting an excited little laugh from Jerome.

When Bruce didn’t answer, Jerome bit his neck hard, pulling skin through his teeth before letting go. “I said, 'don't you agree?’’

“Anything you say Jerome.” Bruce mumbled wildly, unable to really think about what he said. “Anything you say.”

Jerome rolled his eyes and pulled back to see Bruce’s lusty face. His eyes were glazed over, mouth parted to breathe deeply, and he was trembling. “I’ll tell you want I want…little Prince.” He lightly tongued his bottom lip. “I want to cut these clothes off you, I want to run this shiny blade down every inch of your body. Over your nipples until they get hard for me, over that pretty little cock so my knife is wet enough for me to suck on it.”

Bruce dropped his head back, every single thought chasing him around inside his mind. 

Jerome grinned and kept going, only this time as he spoke, he rolled his hips slowly. “I want to fuck you with my tongue until you’re nice and wet, then I want to mark every inch of your body.” He lightly kissed over that scar, his scar. He kissed over it whenever he could. It was his way of saying sorry. Saying it one kiss at a time.

Bruce sat up and gripped him behind the neck and pulled him down for a heated kiss. Teeth clashed, and Jerome’s lip split and blood trickled into their mouths. Jerome groaned deeply, biting his lip just so more blood flowed. He fisted Bruce’s hair and pulled until he gasped, those innocent hands gripping at his back, tearing into his wet shirt, urging him closer.

Jerome grabbed him by the neck and forced him back as he laughed. So loud it echoed around them. Bruce was gone, nearly gone. He was bordering on lost. So high with lust he couldn’t control it. Jerome took great pleasure knowing it was him who reduced the little prince to this withering mess.

“Don’t stop Jay, please.” Bruce begged and tried to kiss him again but the hold on his neck tightened.

“Ah, ah, ah…you never told me what you want Brucie.” He rolled his hips again, feeling Bruce hard against his ass. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He was losing his own composure. He lived to see Bruce wrecked like this. This was the part where he would fuck him. But they were further away from that then he wanted to be.

“Two things.” He breathed deeply. He gripped Jerome’s thighs hard, feeling their power. “Laugh for me.”

It wasn’t an odd request. Not for them. Jerome was very aware of what his laugh did for Bruce. At first, he thought the little brat was making fun of him. That is…until he laughed so hard that Bruce came for him. Clothed, no touching, not even a kiss. Just his laugh, from across the room made Bruce come in his pants. Fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.

“That’s a serious request darling.” He grinned as he leaned forward to lick a drop of blood off Bruce’s bottom lip. “But only for a second. Don’t need you coming too soon now, do we?”

Bruce blushed red before he could control it. “It’s not my fault. “ he shivered as he remembered that first time. “It just feels soo…fucking good.” he moaned again.

“Shh…easy darling boy. I will give you what you want.” He cleared his throat and made sure to keep his eyes on Bruce’s face. The laugh he let out was one of his top 10 best ones. It was loud, a little freaky and Bruce loved it. “HAHHHAHHHAA!” His throat burned, and he had to button it down before the contiguous laugh took ahold of him as it often did.

“F-fuck!!” Bruce whimpered and felt that need creeping up his spine. He tried to breathe deep as the laugh faded, but it was on max volume in his head. “Make me come Jay. Please, fuck…make me come.”

“Don’t you dare.” he growled as he once again gripped his throat hard. Squeezing as his thumb lightly traced the scar. Those blue eyes looked at him like he was the sun and the moon, begging for release. “If you come before I fuck you, I will never laugh for you again.”

Bruce’s eyes widened at the horrific threat. It was worse than a threat on his life. He would rather die and let Gotham burn before he would give up on hearing that laugh. He kept that green gaze as he breathed slowly, pushing that need back down below the surface. 

Jerome was proud at Bruce’s ability to suck back that pending orgasm. He wouldn’t actually carry out his threat of no laughing but then Bruce wouldn’t have worked so hard for it. He loosened his hold, lightly stoking his reddening throat. “You look so pretty with my marks on you.” He praised, leaning forward to lightly lick over a particularly red spot.

“I love your marks on me.” He exhaled slowly, tilting his head to give him more room. “Need them all over me.”

Jerome laughed, and Bruce whimpered. “You are covered with my marks Brucie. Ready to make some more?” 

Bruce nodded quickly. 

“Tell me the second thing you wanted.” Jerome let his hands slip from his neck to his chest, rubbing Bruce’s nipples through the thin dress shirt.

“I want you to suck me.” Bruce couldn’t quite suppress the shiver.

“Such naughty things coming from that mouth of yours.” He tsked with his mouth, playfully shaking his head. “Let’s take care of what I want, before you get what you want.” He arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Yes!” he all but whined.

Jerome smirked and slid off Bruce’s lap, landing on his knees against the floor as he settled between his legs. He took a moment to really look at Bruce. Hair was a mess, lips red and swollen, clothes all discombobulated, that bulge in his slacks that leaked a small wet spot on the dark material. But it was that dark look Bruce had in his eyes, that’s what Jerome looked for with each encounter. 

The blade changed from his left hand, to his right as he leaned forward. The sharp tip was pointed right under his chin, then slowly slid down over his bobbing Adams apple, then his collar bones. Instead of popping each button, Jerome grabbed one side of the shirt with one hand and sliced it down the middle with the knife in his other hand. The material parted like butter, making that delightful ripping sound. He loved that sound. 

The shirt parted, and Jerome slid the knife down his chest, pausing to rub the flat, cold surface over one of Bruce’s pink nipples. He had perfect skin. Soft and smooth aside from the various little scars. All from him. Each one held a special; intense moment between them. They littered from his nipples, across his delicate rib cage, down the V of his hips, between his shoulder blades, a long slice down the length of his spine. A deep one across both cheeks, smaller ones littered his thighs, up close to his cock. Nothing on it it…yet, but it was on his bucket list.

“So beautiful…” Jerome whispered as his fingers tenderly brushed over a few of his favorite scars. 

“I need more.” Bruce whispered as his hand moved down to stroke it’s way through soft red hair. He didn’t push or pull, just simply let the strands slide through his fingers.

“If my prince wants more…” Jerome drug the tip of the knife down hard, just under his forth rib until blood dripped lowly down his stomach. Bruce’s gasping moan was the best part of all this. The way he wanted it, the way he needed it. 

He waited until the blood trail had reached his hips before Jerome flattened his tongue and licked slowly up his body. Now it was his turn to groan. Bruce had the sweetest blood he’d ever tasted. And yes, he’s tasted a lot. Sweet and heady, addicting.

“Jerome, please.” Bruce panted, now gripping his hair tightly.

He dropped the knife to the couch and roughly scraped his nails down Bruce’s sides, smiling savagely when red marks welled to the surface. They slipped lower to grip both sides of Bruce’s slacks and pulled hard until both the button and zipper broke, and the sides parted.

Bruce lifted his ass off the couch, so they could be slid down his body. He moved a little too quickly, so eager for Jerome to touch him. “Put your mouth on me.”

Jerome felt his face stretch a little as his eyebrows rose high. He was taken back by his words. Normally Bruce was so compliant, submissive. This time, Bruce wasn’t wasting any time. “I will take my time darling. If I choose to taste you, I will take my time and do it right.”

Bruce nodded, not sorry whatsoever but his heart fluttered at the term darling. “You’re just too good at it “

Jerome grinned and tucked his fingers into black boxer briefs. The tips of his fingers brushed against Bruce’s head, earning him a breathless cry. He nuzzled the side of his cock, if just to take a deep breath. “You don’t smell like me anymore.” He growled angrily as he tugged down the briefs and licked his lips.

“That’s what happens when you leave for a week.” Bruce mumbled, slowly trying not to shake as those long fingers brushed over him. 

“Guess I better rearrange my schedule, so it doesn’t happen again.” His voice was low, a dangerous sound. He was just about to lick up his length when Bruce tapped his head. He glared up. “Yes, Master Bruce?” he asked in a posh British accent, so it sounded like Alfred.

Bruce held the knife out to him with a stern look. “Forgetting something?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jerome groaned deeply, currently having his own trouble sucking back a rushed orgasm. He took the knife and put the tip of it to Bruce’s swollen head and let the hiss fill his ears.

“That shouldn’t feel so good.” He bit his lip to stifle any more embarrassing sounds.

“Ooh, but it does.” He moved the weapon down his length, lightly over his balls just to hear that gasp. Then up once more to circle the head, gathering pre-come as he promised. The tip dripped as he pulled it away. “See how wet you are for me?”

Bruce nodded with dark eyes. He took the knife and pointed the wet tip to Jerome’s mouth, he rubbed a little against that plump bottom lip, stretched too tightly from the scars on his face. “Suck it.”

His hands tightened around Bruce’s thighs as he parted his mouth. His tongue met the tip of the knife before the rest could enter his mouth. He pushed his tongue against it, licking carefully around it like it was a cock and not a dangerous weapon. One wrong lick and he could slice his tongue. 

Bruce watched intently, feeling closer and closer to that edge each time Jerome’s tongue swirled around the tip. “Now, time to suck me.”

Jerome rolled his eyes and roughly snatched the knife back. He was tired of the power exchange. He was in charge, not Bruce. Without saying anything or looking away from that dark stare, he flicked his wrist and slashed a nice cut into the delicate skin at the base of his cock.

“Fuck!!” Bruce groaned as his head tilted back, eyes rolling. He wouldn’t come…he couldn’t come. Not now…not now. 

Jerome smiled, not bothering to lick up the blood this time. He just let it pool around Bruce’s dick. “Better watch your mouth little Prince. The King of Gotham doesn’t take orders.

“M' sorry Jerome.” He panted quickly. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm, yes you are.” He teased him with a laugh. “Good boy.” He expertly threw the knife hard towards the wall, embedding it in the hard, expensive wood next to the fire place. He gripped Bruce’s cock, opened his mouth wide and sucked him down.

Bruce jerked up, trying hard not to buck his hips. One hand white knuckled Jerome’s hair, the other took the place of Jerome’s hand at the base of his cock so it freed up his hands. “So good Jay…” he gasped when he felt the back of his mouth. “Fuck!”

Jerome relaxed his throat and took him in deep and growled. He didn’t even gag as Bruce shoved further down his throat. He ignored the words of praise and focused on how he tasted. How much he craved this, being put on his knees for Bruce. Not that he would ever admit that. But he loved how the ground bit into his knees. How his wet pants smashed his dick painfully, how he was pleasing someone else because he wanted to.

For him this was unheard of. He took what he wanted, from who he wanted. But this was his Brucie. His little Prince. He was the exception. 

“Oh God…Jerome!” he was full on panting right now. Unable to breathe properly. He couldn’t even stop his orgasm. He was going to come all over the place. “Stop…”

Jerome squeezed the base tightly as he pulled off, keeping his orgasm at bay. A string of spit trailed from his mouth to the head of Bruce’s cock, Jerome placed a kiss there. “Almost made a mistake Bruce. I’d have had to carry out with my punishment if you did.”

“But I need it!” He whined, getting frustrated.

Jerome laughed. “So bratty. You’ll get to come…” 

Bruce cut him off. “Not that, well, yes that but no. I need that laugh Jay. I fucking need it so bad. I need to hear it all the time.”

Jerome gripped Bruce’s thighs and pulled him up as he stood, letting Bruce wrap around his hips. He turned and plopped down on the couch with Bruce on his lap. 

“You don’t need it, you want it.” He shook his head trying to play it off when really, he wanted to laugh until he passed out. “Two very different things. To not hear it won’t kill you.”

“Yes, it will.” He whined and pushed his naked ass into the wet, rough material of Jerome’s pants. “I need it every day.”

Jerome rewarded him with a muffled laugh as he sucked two fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva. As soon as Bruce arched against him, his fingers slid between his cheeks and circled his entrance. 

“You don’t have to do that, I can take it.” Bruce breathed heavily and all he did was circle him. 

“Don’t have to what, hmm? Don’t have to open you up?” Bruce nodded, and Jerome would be lying if he said it didn’t give him a chill. “We tried that once already, remember?” he pushed a finger inside as Bruce gasped. “So tight for me Brucie.”

“We both like the burn Jay. I know you do.” He licked against Jerome’s ear, quickly biting it.

Jerome pushed another one in. He worked them in and out slowly, but expertly. He pushed them in deep until Bruce nearly screamed and bit hard into his ear. “Feels good, don’t it?” Jerome teased as he rubbed over his prostate. “You need more than 2 for my dick.”

“I’ve taken it with no prep before.” He argued and let out a breath when Jerome slipped his fingers out. “I wanted to feel the burn.” 

“Get my dick out.” He grinned widely as Bruce got to work on his shirt, tossing it away before quick hands had his button and zipper popped and slid his hand inside to fish out his dick. “Why would you wanna feel that Bruce?”

Bruce worked him fast, his hand moving up and down Jerome’s impressive length. Just watching made his mouth water. He kept his eyes on Jerome’s chest. It too was littered with battle scars. Knives, bullets, shrapnel from explosions. Unlike his, Jerome’s came from fighting, not pleasure 

“It’s been a week since I felt you.” He breathed heavily and watched as green eyes closed as he worked him fast. “Wanted to be able to feel it for days after.”

“God…” he groaned and gripped slim hips. “You wanted it to hurt huh?” Bruce nodded. “How bout a spit ride then, hmm? Ride me nice and dry to give you what you need?”

Jerome knew that’s what he wanted. Day by day, touch by touch, he was changing the Prince of Gotham into his image. Molding him without even meaning to. Each day Bruce risked more of himself. He wanted more, dangerous things. 

“Yes Jerome!” Bruce moaned and gathered spit on his tongue, leaned back and let it drip onto Jerome’s dick. “Don’t hold back.”

Jerome played with the small cut against Bruce’s groin, getting a pretty sound in response. “When do I ever hold back?” he arched an eyebrow as Bruce sat up on his knees.

“All the time.” Bruce glared at him. When Jerome turned, he grabbed that strong chin and forced green eyes to meet his own. “If you can’t give it to me how I need…then I understand.”

Something inside him snapped. Images of others seeing Bruce the way he does, touching him and tasting him. Marking him. No fucking way. He knew what Bruce was doing. The kid was a fucking genius. Jerome growled deep, gripped his dick in one hand, Bruce’s hip in the other and shoved inside hard.  
“Yes!!” Bruce sagged forward as Jerome settled in deep. It hurt, fuck, it hurt so good. “Just like that.”

Jerome would smile if he didn’t have to keep himself calm. 2 fingers wasn’t enough, he normally needed 3, maybe 4. Bruce was tight , too tight. The hot heat, wet all around him, sucking him in deeper, squeezing around him.

“Gonna regret that in the morning.” He smiled and smoothed dark hair from Bruce’s eyes. Bruce was panting hard against his chest and Jerome knew he was eager to move. “Go ahead Brucie, make it hurt really good for me.”

Bruce sat up, scowling at Jerome’s smirk. He gripped at the back of his neck, the other hand in the center of his chest for balance, he could feel a bullet shaped wound under one finger. He watched Jerome’s face as he lifted up and slammed back down.

“Shit!” He hissed, head dropping back with a thud. 

Bruce lifted up again, slamming down hard until the dull pain in his ass roared back to life. He still wasn’t stretched enough, that plus only spit didn’t help. But it was worth it. It felt like them, hard and a little ragged but all consuming. Something he craved each time he got what he wanted. 

“Harder Bruce,” Jerome held onto his cut hips as he helped Bruce move up and down his dick. He tilted his head enough to see his dick, wet and hard moving swiftly as Bruce rode him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He could feel the spit start to dry, making it harder to slide inside. “Hurt enough for you yet?”

Bruce shook his head, now swiftly bouncing up and down on his cock. It hurt worse now, but that ache was what he chased after. He wanted to remember this every time he walked or sat down for the next few days. “What, can’t take it Jay?” 

Jerome let that anger he kept below the surface come bolting up in a split second. He grabbed Bruce by his throat again, squeezing and the thrust up into him hard. “After you’ve had your fun,” he angled his hips and brushed against his prostate. “I’m going to wreck you!”

Bruce whined deeply, unable to lift himself up anymore. His dick bounced between them, slick at the tip and as Jerome hit his prostate, he knew he was going to have to fight not to come. “Give it to me Jerome!”

Jerome squeezed his neck hard and pushed until Bruce was no longer on him but sitting on the floor. Jerome stood and yanked off his pants and boxers. He dug into the couch to find that hidden bottle of lube and knelt down.

He crawled between Bruce’s legs, stalking him like the prey he was. Bruce took the hint and backed up, sliding on the floor. Once he was at the fireplace, Jerome wiggled between his legs, gripped his thighs and pulled him close.

“Maybe someone else should give it to you?” He asked as he slicked up his cock, then added some to Bruce’s slightly red hole. “Someone who knows what you need.”

Bruce moaned, reaching up for him. Trying to bring him closer. “Only you know what I need.” He spoke only the truth as he grabbed Jerome’s dick and slowly pressed it into himself.

Tight, hot heat surrounded him again. Bruce gave him those pretty little noises. Saying things he needed, wanted and craved. Disgusting things, depraved things. The things that made Jerome want to keep him forever. He thrusted in and out, pulling Bruce’s thighs up to lock around his hips. He leaned forward and put everything he had into those thrusts. Using every muscle in his body as he surged forward. 

Bruce clawed at him, raking nails down his back, over his shoulders and across the swell of his ass. He pushed up off the ground, meeting him thrust for thrust. Even with the added lube, it still hurt. Jerome was big and. Bruce…he could take it.

“I feel it!” He moaned and gripped Jerome’s muscled arms.

Jerome smirked down at him. Poor kid really was gone. He crashed their lips together, fucking into him faster. Each time he was able to shove inside deeper until Bruce was pulsing around him. “Gonna come for me?” He panted as well, being inside Bruce always made him feel like he was going to crash and burn.

Bruce shook his head. He felt it, but just couldn’t get there. Not even when Jerome began to jerk him fast. “Not yet…need something more.”

Jerome tossed one leg over his shoulder and pushed in deeper. He closed his eyes, trying to absorb it all. “Tell your King what his little Prince needs.” He roughly bit into Bruce’s calf muscle until he cried out.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Bruce look up and followed his gaze. He grinned and grabbed the knife deeply imbedded in the wood and held it up to Bruce’s throat as he pounded in deeper.

“Like that?” Jerome asked, moving even faster, feeling that build up. “Let me have it Bruce.”

“Oh God yes, just like that.” He screamed and came hard, splattering between their bodies. His body shook, trembled like an earthquake. His legs fell to the side, he couldn’t hold them any longer. 

“Fuck Bruce!!” He growled and as he came deep inside him, his grip on the knife slipped and he cut that smooth skin. Blood pooled against white skin and it only amplified his orgasm. He pushed his face into Bruce’s neck and rode it out.

Panting filled the room, the sound of wet lips against damp skin. The clatter of the knife as it rolled onto the floor. Jerome kissed up his jaw, right over that scar. “M' sorry.” He whispered.

Bruce smiled into his red hair, holding him against his chest. “It’s okay Jerome.”

It was always okay. Everything between them was okay. Jerome pushed himself up, lightly kissing his lips before he rolled off, trying to get his legs to work. “I missed this.”

Bruce ran his fingers through the mess of blood and come on his chest and smiled at Jerome. “Missed you too Jay. You can’t stay gone that long.”

Jerome nodded and stood on shaky legs to redress himself as carefully as he could without falling. He smiled when Bruce didn’t move an inch. “Lazy bones, just gonna sleep there?”

Bruce nodded, eyes heavy, body slick and tired. “Stay tonight, please? Just once?”

Jerome put wet boots on before he hovered over Bruce. He smiled at his sleepy look, bent down and picked him up bridal style and carried him through the silent house, to the kids room. He pulled back the blankets and covered him up.

“Can’t tonight Prince, Gotham can’t operate at night without me.” He took a little bow, smiling.

Bruce grinned and laced their fingers and pulled him down for a kiss. “Later then?”

“Yes darlin, later.” He pressed a kiss to Bruce’s sleepy face. “Call me when you get up and around. I wanna know how much you ache after.” He pulled back but stopped to thumb over the cut to Bruce’s throat, not deep at all. Just a flesh wound. His finger was wet when he pulled it back, so he sucked it into his mouth knowing Bruce was watching.

“Disgusting.”

Jerome smiled. “Totally disgusting. But you love it.” 

Bruce smirked, feeling his eyes closing. He sort of remembers Jerome turning the news channel on, but he’s so exhausted he wasn’t sure if he was already dreaming or not. “Happy hunting Jerome.”

Jerome was halfway to the window by the time he heard that. He let himself laugh loudly, noticing how Bruce shivered. “Night little prince.”

 

**  
Bruce wakes up to sirens going off. Loud, bright and he jolts up, only to wince and lay down. His entire body hurts. Every muscle, every bone. All the new cuts feel like salt was rubbed into them. His ass…fuck, his ass was sore. Too sore to walk but sore enough to have him feeling satisfied. Jerome always knew what he needed.

He opened his eyes to find Jerome gone and the t.v. on. He saw the lights flash blue and white across a burning building deep in the slums of Gotham. Valerie Vale live on the scene. 

“Channel 9 breaking news. I’m standing here at one of Gotham’s oldest landmarks. The flames reach high up in the sky, demolishing this beautiful, historic place. We got word from Captain Jim Gordon from the GCPD, that this was the work of Jerome Valeska, Gotham's very own Kind of the Underworld.”  
Bruce shakes his head in disapproval. Another historic site, gone. He could see the graffiti that told him it was in fact Jerome. Eyes glaring down at the city, with a big smile that read “HAHHAHA” in all green letters. As much as he hated to see his city this way, his smile would not be kept a secret. 

Bruce smiled, bright enough to dull the moon. That crazy, destructive, murderous man…was his.

**Author's Note:**

> These are in no particular order, can be read separately but they all fit along a chaotic time line.  
> Thanks for reading!


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